


Of Strawberry Shakes and Vanilla Bean Coffee.

by Celestial_Hero



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Again, Light Angst, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Scents & Smells, Summer, sad shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_Hero/pseuds/Celestial_Hero
Summary: It was another one of Ryuji's sad days--days where he found himself thinking about his summer pasts a little too much. Luckily Akira is there to bring him back to the present.





	Of Strawberry Shakes and Vanilla Bean Coffee.

Today was one of the bad days, not due to oppressive, dark clouds and frigid pelts of rain, but because of the sultry heat simmering the world in ripples of heat waves and humid air. The assaulting star, although seemingly wrapped in a robe of filmy clouds, never deterred its searing glare upon the earth, even as Ryuji rose to further tighten the dark blinds against her stare.

Akira laid boneless against a cool, wooden floor, blankets bunched into an arch and pillows strewn about as his eyes, once reflecting the gaudy and preposterous acting from some horror film flickering on the small laptop screen, now hold Ryuji's appearance--sunken eyes, unkempt blond spikes, and a great, gray sweater, bunching around his knees despite the smoldering weather. His movements are languid as he makes his way back over to where Akira rests, before unceremoniously flopping himself down upon the other, head laying against the soft fabric of Akira's baby blue t-shirt; the brighter color, although not anything spectacular, is enough to alleviate the anchor, just a little, sunken within his chest.

You see, the thing about summer days like these that got Ryuji so down, was in the way the heat managed to fry every nerve in his being, sinking into his muscles and making him melt like lava. Breathing in itself was a struggle, each inhale heavy and short, as he tried again and again to take in that one, deep breath that would make the weight in his heart go away.

Ryuji felt like shit. He was lazy, pitiful, an attention-seeking crybaby who couldn't seem to get through his own crap without finding away to drag someone else into his mess.

What happened to good old days, where he'd slip on his pair of sneakers, roll his shirt sleeves up his shoulders, and (if she was there) kiss his mom on the cheek with an  _I'm out_ as he walked, jogged,  _sprinted_ through summer days like these, letting nothing but his own pounding heart and the rushing wind lull him into that trance that left his limbs numb, but satisfyingly?

What happened to days spent meeting up with the track teams for frozen pops in the afternoon, laughing ang jabbing at one another as they raced towards the store because  _the last one there has to pay,_ and Ryuji would just laugh into the air, smiling at the patter of footsteps trailing behind, beside and in front of him?

Where did the summer nights go, where Ryuji walked home with a popsicle stick still between his teeth, arms and legs buzzing after the thrill of a challenge and some good laughs, replaying the day's events in his head like his favorite movie, arms stretched above and behind his head to stare into Tokyo's light-polluted sky, but whose buildings, lit with the residences of families, were enough to replace those stars?

Now, though, here he was, eyes staring holes into the laptop as he comes down from drifting away, Akira's hands petting the top of his head, sometimes lightly scratching his scalp with those perfectly manicured nails. Ryuji can hear the slow heartbeat of the other, and if he holds in his breath long enough, he can hear his own beating a pace just behind him. Akira was always ahead, it seemed, and the thought provokes a silent chuckle from his lips.

Dark eyes turn down to look at the top of Ryuji's head. Having the other against him like this, Akira can hear the defeat and self-loathing attached to each of Ryuji's huff of breaths--sickly, infections sounds tainting the beauty Akira usually finds in his laughter, decaying around the edges, slowly fraying and unraveling. That sadness pierces Akira's own heart, an icy shard and remainder that although he wanted nothing more to take in all of Ryuji's depression and make it all go away, there was only so much he could do. Was his silent presence not enough? Too much? Maybe he actually needed to push Ryuji to say something? 

Ryuji could feel Akira's eyes burning into him, his unsaid questions searing, and he feels he needs to at least say something to assuage the other's concern. Or was it to make him stay? Sighing, he can already feel another loop coming up, and so he sits up, leans towards the device to turn down the cacophony of screaming teenagers and chainsaws to make room for his own garbled, messy words.

He leans back and turns around to sit himself upon Akira's lap, who from below notices just how much smaller the other's hoodie made him look, how the deep gray seemed to suck all the vibrancy out of Ryuji. Ryuji places his hands atop the others chest as he breaths in and opens his mouth to say something. His words, it seem, die in his throat though, and he closes chapped lips and shakes his head before trying again. 

Nothing comes out.

Akira can see Ryuji's hands trembling as he fists them into Akira's shirt, tugging it as too many things zip through his head for Ryuji to decipher, too many things to say. Feeling Akira's heart beat through his fingertips, Ryuji tries to let it ground him, to find what he wants to say. He can't.

It isn't until Akira lifts one of his own hands to rest atop Ryuji's, enclosing it and giving a firm squeeze, that has Ryuji breaking down. He can feel his eyes sting before the tears arrive, the calm before the storm, and doesn't even register Akira sitting up and pulling him closer, Ryuji's ragged breaths and racing heart flooding his ears as he's left a sniveling mess against Akira's neck.

Why did he have to feel so weak, especially at a time like this? It's not like anything bad happened in particular. What was with him? He needed to stop...

It's been a few minutes now, and even then the sun still continues to hail heavy heat. The whirring of the fan does nothing to drown out Ryuji's strained sobs, each one softening after so long. By then Akira's sat up, arms enveloping the other in body heat and breathing mild breaths against Ryuji's bleached hair, and although the last thing Ryuji needs right now is another layer of heat on him, there's something pleasant about letting his body relax against the other, listening to Akira's calming voice, and breathing in the other's personal aroma of vanilla and coffee beans. Ryuji finds himself coming down from his emotional high, like he was flying a jet, spinning and spinning, waiting for the crash that never came, a dizzy haze being the after math of the storm.

Akira rocks them from side to side, like a boat riding out the ferocious waves of a storm. For a few minutes, Ryuji's mind is blissfully blank while he just takes in Akira's scent, the gentle swaying, the piercing screams of the actors still on screen, and just how perfectly they fit against each other.

Ryuji, head laying against Akira's neck, can hear the rhythmic, even tempo of the other's heart. Holding in his breath, he listens to his own beat, before exhaling and hearing it slow down. Closing his eyes, he just listens to that, grounding him in the here and in the now. His summer days with the track team were gone--days spent racing and laughing until his heart felt like it was going to implode. His days spent regulating his heartbeat on walks home on starless Tokyo nights are few, and while before they were usually spent alone, now he has Akira. He focuses on them then, on how their hearts pulse in sync, the two beating together stronger in the end, and takes in one final sigh. 

And just like that, it's over.

He doesn't move from where he's resting against Akira, face still stuffed in the spotted t-shirt housing that soft aroma, and doesn't move when he whispers "I'll be okay" into it either. Akira nods, a reassurance or just to say he'd heard him, he doesn't know. After a bit Ryuji lifts his head up, his heart lighting up at how those dark eyes, once focused on the vivid screen, immediately fall upon him again. Small smile gracing his lips, Akira returns it, taking Ryuji's sleeve-covered hand and wiping his face, leaning in to place light pecks across the other's face, Ryuji's heart leaping at each one.

A quiet giggle escapes his lips as leans back to escape Akira's ministrations, and he wraps his arms around Akira's neck to bring him down into a sweet, tender kiss--firm but gentle, and grounding. He feels Akira sigh and pull back, flashes from the screen creating a halo of light to fall over him and reflect off his eyes, of which are crinkled and soft. 

"I'm sorry you have to deal with me like this," Ryuji whispers, eyes turning away from the other as his heart clenches when he thinks about himself just a few minutes prior, guilt washing over him.

Akira shakes his head. "Mm mm, we talked about this."

Oh yeah, that's right. Clearing his throat, Ryuji looks back at Akira and, voice stronger, says, "Thank you for being here with me" instead.

"Anytime," Akira in turn says, leaning down to peck Ryuji's cheeks, and the corners of his mouth, before finally landing upon the chapped lips, just as loving as before, if not more. 

Leaning back again, Akira's mouth is upturned in a sly smile. "So, how about we get ourselves some shakes? I'm dying in this heat."

And Ryuji nods, heart unclenching and lighting up, grateful for how Akira didn't let such a heavy situation faze him too much, keeping things just as domestic as before as he treats Ryuji's rare bouts of melancholy like they're something normal--something he knows just come with the Ryuji bundle, and treats with as much seriousness and care like every part of their relationship.

As they sit up, he watches as Akira heads over to his dresser and retrieves a green white t-shirt from it. He tosses it to Ryuji, who replaces it with the gray sweater, and breaths in the faded scent of vanilla, coffee beans, and the crispness of the laundry detergent he and his mom use to wash clothes, smiling at just how casually Akira's managed to ingrain himself in their lives. 

And later that day, snuggled against one another as they shout and laugh at the frazzled, frantic set of gore-soaked teenagers scrambling on the laptop screen, Akira can't help but notice just how familiar he's become with Ryuji's cologne of bitter sweat, dirty Tokyo streets, fresh laundry detergent unlike his own, and among it all, sweet, strawberry shakes.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I just have a thing for scents and smells associated with Akira and Ryuji at this point.


End file.
